


If Love Is Really Blind, You Never Get To Choose

by darlathecyborgpluviophile



Series: I Suffer(ed) From The Birdcage Syndrome [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Touch Chancellor, Beating, Bondage, Dissociation, Emotional Abuse, Implied/Referenced Emotional Abuse, Implied/Referenced Physical Abuse, M/M, MT!Prompto, Objectification, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Physical Abuse, Pre-Pieces, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, cyborg AU, maladaptive daydreaming, servitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 12:14:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12531116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlathecyborgpluviophile/pseuds/darlathecyborgpluviophile
Summary: 01987 investigates a nearby library, and finds a surprising amount of information on what the Chancellor's been doing with him.





	If Love Is Really Blind, You Never Get To Choose

There lies a sign, far down the hallway you stand in. It rests above a heavy metal door, with a small glass window set above the knob.

The sign reads _RECORDS LIBRARY_ , in thick black letters.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself—readjusting your armor, attempting to listen in on the meeting you've been shut out of, tracing over bruises and bite marks on your neck—your eyes flicker back to it, again and again.

Something in your head, a voice that sounds suspiciously like the freezing woman from your glitch in Tenebrae, whispers to you.

 _The hallway is deserted_ , it says.

 _The meeting will last a long time_ , it says.

 _No one has to know_ , it says.

Of course, the last thought at least is untrue. The Chancellor is an ever present force in your life. He knows everything about you. He keeps a tight hold on you, often literally. Despite being the one who holds his life in your hands, you know you're his property, his possession. Anything you could ever do, he'd find out.

Besides, it's not like it says _BOOKS LIBRARY_. All that's inside is probably reports and files and things of no interest to you.

Yet the temptation persists, maddening you during every one of these damned daily meetings. It seems that's all the Chancellor does with his life; shake hands and paste on fake smiles and sit in rooms with other humans to discuss important topics that you randomly do or don't get to hear about. They're not even in new places anymore, as you currently stand and stare at the gleaming white walls of the Empire's first military installation. It wouldn't be such a pressing issue if you didn't have to stand here for hours, waiting to be taken home and spread out on the bed. It's so...

You can't find the word for it, and that too frustrates you to no end. It's routine, it's monotonous, it's worse than patrols were back when you were in training, because at least those involved walking around.

So, you wait, resisting the intriguing pull of the sign and its door.

On the second day of meetings, you tap your foot while waiting.

On the third, you flick against the ridges of your armor, stringing sounds together in something approximating a pattern.

On the fourth, you bite your knuckles, adding to the myriad marks from struggling against your bonds in the night.

The fifth day, you look both ways down the deserted hallway, take a deep breath, and finally give in to the urge.

The library is dark, dusty, manila folders and typed pages scattered everywhere. Even the mess in the Chancellor's penthouse couldn't compare to this.

You swallow, and turn on the lightswitch after shutting the door. A small lamp in the center of the room sputters to life, illuminating only a small circle around the desk below it.

After a mere glance around, it looks like your original guess was correct. This is a dumping ground for scientists, doctors, researchers, or anyone with refugee files. Most of the documents you can see are tinged slightly brown, others gray and thick with dust.

You keep quiet, in case somehow, someone from the meeting can hear you. You watch where you step, around stacks of paper and discarded writing utensils, and into the maze of metal shelves that lie beyond the desk.

The light doesn't reach very far into the rest of the room, but that doesn't bother you much. Your eyes have always adjusted to darkness fast, and you start to scan the shelves for anything of interest. There are little pieces of paper taped onto some of them, hanging onto the metal by just a sliver of tape.

One reads _WALL BREAKER_ , scrawled in black, with a double headed arrow underneath. Another proclaims _SCOURGE_ , followed by _DAEMONIZATION REPORTS_ a few shelves down. Further ahead, on another shelving unit entirely, is a sign stating _MT CLONING REPORTS_ , with a variety of dates following the words. You make a mental note of its location, in case you come back to it.

The further you go on, you realize how valuable this place is. Anyone could come in here, search any of these topics, and be gifted with a wealth of knowledge on the Empire. Its state of disrepair is strange to you. You have to be the first new element introduced into this room in a long while.

The shelves curve around, leading you back to the light and the desk. You turn back to examine the resources on MTs again when you slip on a piece of laminated paper.

You lose your balance, and fall forwards. You put your arms out to find a lifeline, and land on top of a cart of some sort. Its wheels are a problem at first, making you slip further, but it manages to stay put once you have a firm enough hold on it. You take a second to catch your breath, then pull yourself off it.

Even in the darkness, you can clearly make out rectangles on the cart.

You gasp.

They're _books_.

There's a makeshift sign on these, too. It's a yellow piece of paper, taped sideways onto the first layer of the cart. The giant black word "FICTION" stands in parallel to the faint red lines behind it. In smaller writing, down in the corner of the page, it says, _Add your favorite books. C'mon, we're all bored here!_ , followed by what you're guessing is a crude approximation of a smiling face.

This isn't all. There are smaller papers, somehow sticking onto the metal without the aid of tape, in all sorts of different colors and styles of writing.

 _This is stupid. ~Ruby_ , one reads.

 _Aw, don't be like that! I know you have tons of romance novels stashed in your apartment. Share the wealth! ~Astra_ , touts another.

 _And who's going to read them? ~Ruby_ , it continues.

 _I wouldn't mind. This sounds fun. ~Pruinae_ , comes a third source.

The conversation—and from what you can tell, many others—continue like this, all around the cart. You know nothing about the people who wrote them, nor where they come from.

What matters is that you are less than a foot away from something forbidden. Something you're not supposed to have. Not for MTs, the Chancellor had said.

You look towards the door. Despite being so close, so on the verge of breaking a command, no one is there. No trainer, no scientist, not even the Chancellor himself is standing and waiting to punish you.

Just to be certain, you rise and poke your head into the hallway outside. It's as white and sterile as before; completely barren. You can hear the Chancellor's lilting voice muffled through the door you're supposed to be guarding, and he seems as engrossed as ever in what he's talking about.

You make your way back to the fiction cart, and kneel in front of it.

Your fingers tremble—with excitement or terror you don't know—as you pick a book off the top.

 _Fine, you win. This is one of my favorites. ~Ruby,_ sits another note on its cover.

You carefully peel the paper off, and take a look at what lies beneath.

It takes you a moment to decipher the swooping and looping nature of the letters, but after some study you read the words _SAFE HAVEN_. Underneath lies a picture of two humans. They stand on a rock with swirling blue design carved into it. A smaller human with long hair is nestled in the arms of a bigger one, who holds her protectively.

Needless to say, you're intrigued. You glance up at the door once more now that the object's in your hands, and still no one is there. You take a centering breath, and you open to the first page.

The book, it turns out, is easier to read than the reports you're forced to. It tells a story, of two humans—man and woman—who meet in the Lucian territory of Leide. The man is a hunter, bold and muscular, and the woman is a frail refugee from an Imperial occupied town. That alone is an oddity; the story portrays the Empire as a villain, crushing the lives of innocent humans. You've been told for as long as you remember that what the Empire's doing is bringing a peaceful reign to all on Eos. How can these words and the ones you're surrounded by constantly be so at odds?

You shake off the minor crisis the concept gives you to keep reading. You consume the words on each page like you're starving, desperately devouring the world it lays out for you.

Things shift, however, forty pages in, when the characters begin to... _touch_ each other.

At first, you don't recognize what's going on. It's only until the two of them begin taking off their clothes that you think _oh_. Even after you do, there's enough difference between what's written and what you experience almost every night that you can't set it all straight in your head.

When the chapter concludes, you shut the book and stare off at the grey shelves around you.

This is a thing that humans do? Does it happen as often as the Chancellor makes you do it? Neither human was tied to the bed. Neither human was told to keep quiet, the text in fact highlighting just how much noise they made. Both humans enjoyed the act, and both humans curled up to go to sleep afterwards, smiling.

Your head hurts, and you don't want to think about this any more than you have to. You decide to leave the room before you're found and punished.

You make it to the door before you turn back and gaze at the book cart. Despite the unpleasant thoughts it puts in your head, you're incredibly curious to discover what happens next.

Indecision grips you until you moan at your clearly broken impulse control, and scoop the book back into your arms. You glance out the small window set into the door and out at the room the Chancellor's in; still shut.

You cram it into the small space between your chest plate and your uniform's top, nestling it between layers of metal until it's secure and hidden away.

You can't help but shake as you slip out of the library and back towards the meeting room door like nothing's happened.

  
******

  
You pick up on the book's vocabulary quickly.

A penis is referred to as a variety of things, like a "cock", or a "dick". The woman in the story has what's referred to as an "entrance", or less often, "vagina", among other, smaller parts.

The act itself is known as "fucking" or "sex", and penis sucking is a "blowjob".

So...the Chancellor's been having sex with you. Still, it seems different.

By the time you finish the book, the second day you return to the library, it's revealed to you that the two humans in the story are "in love" and that's why they fuck so much. Love is never defined though, so you're left more confused than ever.

In some attempt to clear things up, you pick another book off the cart, and start anew.

  
******

  
"You did very well tonight, dear."

The Chancellor sits beside you, on the edge of the bed. His hair is wet from showering, sticking close to his cheeks and neck. His hand ghosts up and down your stomach.

"You controlled your volume admirably. What do you say we pull the tape off, to sleep?"

You nod so hard you can feel your brain rattling in your skull.

You keep quiet even as he rips the tape from your face in one swift movement. The only sign you're in pain is a sharp inhale as soon as your mouth is freed.

"Good boy."

Your wrists remain tied as he moves his hand from your stomach and up to the red, angry marks on your face to trace them.

"Now. What do you say?"

Your face stings when you talk. "Thank you, Chancellor."

You've learned that when people press their lips together or against something, it's called a "kiss". He does this now, to your forehead.

"You're very welcome."

He reaches up, and he finally unties you. He helps you under the covers, still holding your hands tight and possessive. If he feels them trembling, he doesn't say anything.

Within minutes, the lights in the room are out, and he's lying beside you.

Within the hour, he's snoring.

An arm is draped over your side, and his face is in your hair. All around he's too close for comfort, and you want nothing more than to squirm out of his grip and have your own personal space to rest. However, the consequences of untangling yourself from him last time resulted in punishment, the long lines he cut into your back still healing. You'd rather not repeat the experience.

That being said...

Your book is wedged in your chest plate, at the foot of the bed.

It's not a good idea to wriggle free. It is a _horrible_ idea to wriggle free, and yet somehow, you're considering it.

This particular book you've taken from the cart in the library has a terrifying grip on you. Even more so than the last five you've read, which focused entirely on sex and love, it seems as if every time you open this one your heart steels itself to leap from your chest.

There's so much going on; assassinations, gunfights, car chases. Swearing, and excitement and above all: a mystery. You're never able to guess what's going to happen on the next page, and you would do anything to just get off the bed and go find out—

You feel your heart slamming against your ribcage thinking about the whole situation. The way the story makes you feel and the risk you are thinking of braving to experience more of it is new and frightening and so, so different. You don't think MTs were meant to feel like this outside of combat situations. Maybe this is why you're not supposed to read books in the first place.

But gods, you couldn't stop now.

  
******

  
Even the addicting book had _love_ in it.

You still wish you fully understood what that means.

  
******

  
The day after borrowing your ninth book, the Chancellor's meetings down the hall from the library stop. You're sent two stories up, to a different room that you are allowed to go inside.

You've finally discovered that word you were looking for the first few days before you found the library: _boring_. Standing guard anywhere is the most boring thing you will ever do, you think. You've gotten so used to passing the time reading books or comparing your life to them that normal duties have lost what little allure they had. You can't even find interest in the meeting. It's about government spending, and frankly, the Chancellor looks just as disinterested as you are.

You clasp your hands behind your back and manage to slip your fingers between the metal of your gauntlets and your skin to trace the barcode imprinted there. A scene in the seventh book you read described a man purchasing objects at a store, and before exchanging any money with the cashier, each item had to have its barcode scanned. It had been a small detail, inconsequential to the scene, but the concept fascinated you. You can't help but giggle a little, wondering what would happen if you were to be scanned at a store like that.

The room falls silent. Only your quiet laughter reaches your ears. When you realize this, you press your lips together and force your face into an expression of neutrality.

Too little, too late.

The Chancellor gives you a pointed look out of the corner of his eye, and stands.

"Terribly sorry for the interruption, gentlemen. We won't be a moment."

He links your arms together and all but drags you out of the room. Once outside, he pulls his arm out of yours in disgust.

"What, pray tell, was that nonsense?"

How could you possibly explain it to him?

"I don't know, sir."

"Why would you—"

He pauses, as if considering how to phrase his next comment.

"Have you any idea, 01987, what they would do if they found out my personal MT was defective?"

Your mouth goes dry. You stammer, trying to find an adequate response. He continues, before you have a chance to say anything.

"I wouldn't mind telling them myself, although it would be quite a waste. What you lack in discipline, you make up for in plenty of other aspects."

He enjoys lording that over you, and you can't understand why. It's not like you choose to have sex with him.

"I'm sorry, sir." You cast your eyes to the side. He seizes your chin, and forces you to meet his piercing gaze.

"Would you say it to my face?"

Your heart races with the unspoken threat. "I-I'm ver—I'm sorry, Chancellor."

"Good."

He releases you from his bruising hold, and instead tucks a strand of blonde behind your ear.

"Stay out here and wait for me, dear?"

"Yes, sir."

"And at least _pretend_ to be functional?"

"Of course."

He pulls the door half open. He gives you a searching look, then returns to his meeting.

  
******

  
_Not really a reading book, but it's still one of my favorites? ~Amicus_ , the note on your newest pick reads.

This book is much larger than all the others; you don't think you'll be smuggling it around any time soon. It sits in your lap like one of the weights you used to train with, rectangular and black, with white writing and a single image on the cover. Opening it shows yet more images; in fact, that seems to be what the book is made up of, with the actual text in minuscule paragraphs at the bottom of each page.

You flip back to the cover. The book is entitled _101 Places To See Before You Die_. You return to the page you opened up to.

Long _somethings_ arch across a wide expanse of land, empty, but with some signs of civilization in the distance. The sky in the image is purple like new bruises, the sun having set in the background. You look towards the tiny paragraph in the corner for some context, and find that these structures are known as the Duscaen Arches, at home in the Lucian territory of Duscae. That would explain their unfamiliarity. You also learn that the arches are made of rock, naturally occurring.

You touch the book, and trace the rocks where they lie printed across both pages. The image seems to draw you in; you feel like you're really standing there, looking at these gods given masterpieces, smelling the grass and the exhaust from cars on the nearby highway, seeing the first stars sparkle high in the sky.

For a moment you're far away from Niflheim, from the Chancellor, from punishments and sex and boring meetings—all of it. Your chest feels light, it feels warm and fuzzy and you can't help as your lips curl into a fond smile—

—then it hits you, and you blink.

Love.

You must have just felt love for this...this...

You return your attention to the corner.

This _photograph_.

Your smile grows unabashed and open-mouthed as you turn to the next page.

  
******

  
Your eyes are glassy as you work the Chancellor's cock, your mind elsewhere.

So—love. Sometimes love comes with sex, sometimes it doesn't. For example, your newfound love for photography, or an animal you read about called a 'chocobo', you certainly have no interest in fucking. But a person who loves another person, that always includes sex.

You're not a person, though. So why does the Chancellor use you like this?

"01987," he hisses from above, "you're distracted."

You pull your mouth off him for a second, uttering a small, "Sorry, sir," then resume further up than you left off. You apply suction and slide down towards the head, and at the next pleased sound he makes you slip back into your thoughts.

Then again, you feel love for those non-human things, too, as a non-human yourself. Maybe it's a different kind of love? A special MT version. So...that begs the question...

Right, the blowjob. Gods, you hope this will be the last thing tonight.

As much as you don't want to, you put concentrated effort in taking as much of him down your throat as you can. He comes shortly after that, just as disgusting as all the other times it's happened. You're finally allowed to catch your breath as he tucks himself away.

You open and close your mouth a few times before deciding to say something.

"Chancellor," you grit out, "do you love me?"

His face, previously hazy from pleasure, is a study in shock.

"What?"

"Y-you...you have sex with me. A lot. Do you love me?"

It's a rare sight to see the Chancellor speechless, but he composes himself soon enough.

"MTs don't deserve love, nor would they ever be able to experience such a thing. A better description would be that you, dearest," he pats your cheek, "are my whore."

You know that word. It has negative connotations, and is used in reference to a person who has a lot of sex. You suppose that's accurate, as the Chancellor does fuck you often.

"Besides," he continues, pulling you up onto the bed with him, "you are certainly not the first one I've had over the years. The High Commander, for example, was quite the amusement for a time. How else do you think a sullen boy from Tenebrae climbed the ranks so fast?"

An amusement, a whore; but no love.

You don't deserve love.

He kisses you anyway, snaking an arm around your back before wincing and pulling away.

"You're still in your armor. I nearly forgot." His hands settle on your sides. "As much as I enjoy the little shows you put on for me, what do you say I remove it, just this once?"

It's not a request. He starts unclasping the front of your chest plate, but when you remember the book tucked inside, you shove his hands off in panic. You have a split second where you register the anger in his face, and roll off the bed to put as much distance between yourself and him as possible.

"Let me do it. Please?" you ask, backing away.

He only cocks his head, anger smoothing itself into something colder.

"Oh, my. Are you so defective you've forgotten who's in charge?"

The image of him on the bed flickers, and he's in front of you, hands returned to your sides.

You freeze up while he removes the chest plate, closing your eyes in anticipation for the discovery.

"What is this?"

Despite expecting it, your blood runs cold. Something smacks you across the face, and you open your eyes to find it's the book.

"I asked you a question, 01987, and I do expect to be answered."

You're shaking, you're blinking too fast, your uniform top feels constricting.

"A-a..book..."

"A book."

He studies the cover.

"Safe Haven," he reads aloud, then laughs like it's the funniest thing in the world. He doubles over, arm across his stomach. When he comes up for air, you can tell his eyes are watering.

"Oh," he wheezes, coming out of it, "this is quite rich. Is this why you asked if I loved you?"

You nod, uncertain and scared. The response nearly throws him into another laughing fit, but he manages to restrain himself.

"I can scarcely believe it—you've been smuggling romance novels around!"

Again, you nod.

"Where on Eos did you find them?"

You look towards the nearest window. You focus on it, trying to soak in the details of what you see so the world doesn't go blurry.

"Records library," you mumble.

The Chancellor takes a fistful of your blonde hair, and throws you against the side of the bed.

"I knew we should have held those meetings elsewhere."

He pins you down with a heavy boot, pressing painfully against your ribcage.

"You disobeyed an order, 01987. Do you know what this means?"

"Punishment?" you gasp out.

The Chancellor pushes you further back onto the bed, bending your spine at an unnatural angle.

"Oh, far worse than that."

You scramble to free yourself, but his hands are on you in record time, holding your arms to the bedding.

"I'm afraid you'll be getting a taste of what it's like to live without my kindnesses."

He rips the remaining armor off, the metal scraping against your flesh. Thoughts dance in your head, mingling and meshing with every blow your body absorbs.

You deserve this. You lied, you stole, you hid, you disobeyed for months. Yet, you don't think you'd give up your newfound knowledge for the world.

Sex isn't supposed to be dreaded. You _have_ felt love, even as an MT, towards sunrises and chocobos and well-framed shots.

The Chancellor's saying something, but you can't understand it over the roaring in your ears. It doesn't seem like it requires a response, as he proceeds with whatever it is he's doing.

He pulls at your legs, spreading them so far apart they throb with the strain of it. Something wraps around your ankles, thick and strong and preventing any movement. It's like when he ties your arms up but worse; the scarves, at least, are silky and smooth. This feels almost like...oh, you can't place it right now. Leather? Rope, perhaps?

You drift, and spot the book sitting on the pillow by your head. That first one you read was always your favorite, with everything it introduced to you.

The Chancellor climbs on top of your lower abdomen. He's naked now, and you can't help the full-body shudder that runs through you.

There are bruises on your chest that he presses on with his whole hands. You moan in pain as he leans down towards your ear, and begins to unbutton your uniform top.

"—you have no idea what's in store, my toy," you catch him saying, low and dangerous.

A flash of a fist against your face, and you can't use your nose anymore. Between the pressure on your chest, the agonizing pain all over, the broken nose, black begins to dot your vision.

You think back to the cover of your book. The woman lies, held in the man's arms. _That would be nice_ , you think, _to be held like that, gentle and supported._

You smile at the thought. A man, or anyone, really, holding you safe and warm. Your scars and bruises and barcode all missing. No sex involved, none of the overwhelming suffering you face, just rest. _Love_ , though you know you don't deserve it.

His tongue paints your cheeks with saliva, mingling with the blood from your nose. It lingers on your lips, pushing itself inside your mouth as his hands move to your pants.

You feel like you're collapsing, like your body is caving in, as the black swallows your sight whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I decided to put the notes at the end this time because I'll be doing a fair bit of rambling.
> 
> First off, thank you invisibledeity for editing and betaing. :) You're super awesome!
> 
> Second, the title of this fic is from the song "Doolittle Dragon" by Circe Link.
> 
> Third...
> 
> To those wondering, yes, things are gonna get better for Prompto. This is the last SUPER DARK fic for a bit, although his experiences are mentioned and referred to plenty. 
> 
> Fourth, if you haven't read the original fic this series is based off of (which I will be adding to the series roster sometime in the next week) I highly recommend you do that, or else you may be lost after this fic. The original was intended to be standalone when I wrote it a few months ago, so I *will* be making some fairly minor edits and changes so it fits in with the rest of the continuity better. 
> 
> Fifth...uh...I don't have a fifth. Thanks for reading! <3 I hope you stick around to see Prompto begin recovery from this bullshit and get the life he deserves.


End file.
